


Strays

by LinearA



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Universe, Dark Rey (Star Wars), Drabble Collection, F/M, Multi, Threesome - F/F/M, Threesome - F/M/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-10 21:48:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20142502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LinearA/pseuds/LinearA
Summary: Someone asked for this.  Literally, at least one person requested each of these drabbles.  (Whether they were satisfied or not is another question.) And then someone suggested I rope in my tumblr strays on AO3, so here we are.





	1. Drink Up (Rose/Rey/Ben Solo)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HealthNotAssured](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HealthNotAssured/gifts), [Bombastique](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bombastique/gifts).

> All chapter titles include prompts/pairings. Many thanks to the prompter(s); all credit to them, all blame to me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt
> 
> Anonymous asked: New porn prompt to forestall any pity I might have for Ben in Salvation: Rosereylo! Ben has two ladies to worship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s me, your friendly neighborhood pornographer. Threesomes are a real challenge to choreograph, so this took me a sec, and getting Ben to a place where he isn’t a huge angrysad insecure mess at the thought of Rey paying sexual attention to anyone else is even MORE of a challenge. The sex really took up all my attention so I’m afraid I didn’t do very good world-building here, but this is a “Ben Solo never went to the Dark Side” AU, and I hope it is enjoyable!

Ben’s not sure who was pouring. He poured one — maybe two — rounds, but it must have been more than that to get all three of them this drunk. Rose at least should by all rights be out cold, but she’s leaning on the table and giggling as Rey flicks her fingers and makes his cup slide just out of his reach. Why is he trying to get his cup? He’s already drunk. But Rey keeps taking it away. So he holds her back with one hand and grabs the cup with the other, glaring and gulping the rest of the drink before she can evade his shield and spill it down his front or something.

“This is so funny,” Rose gasps, as the giggles briefly subside. "This is the funniest thing I ever saw! Rey — Rey — do it again, Rey!“

Ben looks smugly at Rey — the cup is empty now, so there’s no point keeping it out of his reach. She makes a gesture at him; he’s never seen it, but he assumes it’s something rude from Jakku, so he makes a rude Corellian gesture back at her (it’s Corellian, right? Maybe it’s Alderaanian) and says, in his primmest voice, "The Force isn’t for party tricks, Rey.”

“Yeah? Then why’s it let me do this?” And her fingers move and his _hair_ moves – she flicked his hair! And now it’s in his eyes! This is an insult and an indignity and he’s not going to stand for it, _especially_ given the way it’s made Rose fall against Rey’s shoulder in paroxysms of laughter. He frowns — it’s hard to concentrate; they’re leaning on each other, rocking with laughter, and okay, yes, fine, he’s drunk, but he can do this, even if he has to use two hands — and pulls out both their hair ties at once.

Somehow that only makes them laugh harder. "Rey! Rey!“ Rose squeaks, "You look so pretty with your hair down!”

Rey delightedly strums on one of the little curls by Rose’s cheek, watching it spring back. "No but look at you, though! I could _eat_ you!“ And she presses a kiss to Rose’s cheek. Rose blushes; she kisses Rey’s cheek, leaning into it, and then rubs her nose against Rey’s.

"Hey,” Ben complains, over the sound of their giggles, trying with clumsy fingers to get his hair back where it belongs, “I got my hair messed up too and nobody’s kissing me.”

He fully expects one of them — probably Rey — to tell him he can’t expect to be kissed, since he’s not as pretty with his messed up hair as they are. He doesn’t expect Rose to cry, “Oh! Poor Ben!” and run around the table to perch on the bench beside him and kiss him on the cheek. Her lips are warm and soft, and that’s really quite a lot, but then she says, “Rey! Come kiss Ben,” and they’re _both_ kissing him, one on each cheek, and they _both_ have warm, soft lips, and then Rey slips an arm around his neck and leans across him to kiss Rose right on the mouth, and _he’s done with his drink he can’t get drunker it’s not possible_.

But here he is.

Rey is still kissing Rose, and now their mouths are open — they’re so close to him he can _hear_ the kiss — and at the same time Rey’s arm tightens around his neck, so that the whole side of her body, hip to shoulder, is pressed against him, and Rose’s hand is on his leg for balance, and oh, that’s why it feels like he’s getting drunker — all the blood is leaving his head.

Rey pulls back for a second, and Rose says, “Don’t feel left out, Ben; you look pretty with your hair down too,” and she kisses him, tasting like whatever horrifying cocktail Poe put in these pitchers, only much, much better. Rey swings both her legs over one of his, so she knows where all his blood has gone, because she can feel it against her knee. He has to put his arms around them both — _has_ to, because otherwise he’s going to fall backwards off this bench. And yes, he has been fantasizing about Rey touching him like this, about holding her this close, for… forever, but it’s not like he hasn’t _noticed_ Rose and her black hair and her gentle eyes and her small, dark-pink mouth. She kisses him so sweetly that when she stops he sighs against her cheek, and feels her laugh stir his hair.

“His lips are so soft, Rey,” she says, and then Rey’s hand is on his chin and her mouth is on his. She doesn’t kiss sweetly; she kisses with a hungry gasp, and a nip at his lower lip that makes him whimper.

“Soft,” says Rey consideringly, and rubs her knee against the hardest part of him, so that his whole body twitches and he tightens his grip on them both. Giggles spill out of Rose as if he’d squeezed them out of her, so he squeezes her tighter to see if it works that way. Maybe it does; she giggles again, and then she nips at his jaw just where it meets his skull, and puts her mouth around his earlobe at almost the exact moment that Rey puts her hand on his cock and squeezes him through his pants. It’s his considered opinion that anyone who could do anything under those circumstances but moan must be either comatose or mute. He’s neither, so he does moan, and both of them seem to think it’s pretty funny, what they’re doing to him.

“This is a public place,” Rey says, poking him in the ribs, and if he were sober and didn’t have two armfuls of extremely pretty girl, he might point out that it’s deserted, and also that he didn’t start this, but he’s not in a state to argue, or do anything besides lean forward to kiss her. After all, he owes her a bite. He decides part-way through kissing her, though, that her mouth, naughty as it is, is too nice to bite, so he bends down and nuzzles his way inside her collar and bites her just where her neck meets her shoulder. 

She shrieks and yanks on his hair, pulling him off her, squirming in his lap. "He bit me!“ he hears her exclaim to Rose, though he can barely understand the words through the delicious pain in his scalp and the raw pleasure in his groin.

"Want me to kiss it better?” Rose asks. Rey nods, pouting, and pushes her clothes aside to show Rose the spot. Between Ben craning his head to see the reddening mark of his teeth on Rey’s skin and Rose leaning across him to press her lips against Rey’s throat, he finally loses his balance on the bench, and they’d all end up bruised on the floor if it weren’t for Rey yanking them back with the Force.

Ben feels annoyed with himself for not handling that on his own, so he braces his feet, tightens his grip on both of them, and stands up, knocking the bench over and lifting both women into the air. "Show-off,“ Rey says, but Rose kicks her legs delightedly.

"You’re so _strong,”_ she marvels. He _is_ strong, and he appreciates her noticing, so he does his best to kiss her as nicely as she kissed him.

Rey slides down his body. "My room is closest,“ she declares, and begins dragging him by the arm. He’s not done kissing Rose, but she’s portable, so he doesn’t actually have to stop in order to follow Rey. It’s pretty nice to be so strong sometimes.

She wraps her legs around his waist, as Rey steers them, and puts both her hands in his hair, and it’s a good thing that Rey is such a good pilot because Ben would definitely crash into something otherwise. Rose is so warm and so soft; she smells like engine oil and jogan fruit and passi flowers and those candied leaves Rey likes. "I’m going to carry you everywhere,” he informs her. "Here on out. No more walking for you.“ She strokes his hair, smiling, and Rey yanks them through her door.

"Put her down and take your clothes off,” she orders him, and he’s sad to put Rose down but what’s he going to do, _not_ do what Rey tells him? And he has to admit that he will probably be a lot more comfortable with his pants off, and everybody knows you look ridiculous with a shirt and no pants, so she’s probably onto something.

Rey twists her head, trying to examine the bite on her shoulder. "It’s not better, Rose,“ she complains.

"Ooooh, does it need more kissing?”

“Yes, please.” Ben is trying to do as he’s told, but he feels, again, that he can’t really be blamed for getting a little sidetracked when Rose is taking off Rey’s vest and peeling off her shirt while she rubs her lips back and forth over the mark he left on Rey. He doesn’t _mean_ to stand there like an idiot with his shirt off and his pants open and his hand on his cock, staring as Rose’s kisses turn into licks and move down over Rey’s perfect little pink-tipped breasts while Rey’s lashes flutter; it just _happens._

Then Rey rolls Rose over onto the bed and climbs on top of her. She leans down and slowly, slowly, smiling wickedly, she pulls down the zipper on Rose’s jumpsuit. Rose squirms underneath her, but Rey refuses to speed up; she just leans down and kisses Rose. Then Ben sees Rose’s arm shift, and Rey grind her hips, and understands that Rose is stroking the seam of Rey’s pants, and he suddenly realizes that there’s a very real danger that he’ll just come right now. He forces himself to stop touching himself and finish taking off his pants, but the danger doesn’t entirely subside, especially when Rose turns her head away from Rey’s kiss to look directly at him and whisper loudly, “Do you think he knows how to use that pretty mouth?”

“Only one way to find out,” says Rey, and peels Rose out her jumpsuit. Underneath, Rose has a rust-red sleeveless top that fits her like a glove, and black pants that Rey immediately sets to work unbuttoning as Rose smiles lazily at Ben. He can see her nipples through her shirt, hard as rivets. She thinks his mouth is pretty? Okay. He can think of some places he wants to put it.

Rey turns to him, and there are _so many_ places he wants to put his mouth, and his hands; he reaches out for her and she moves into his hands, moaning into his mouth as he strokes his hands over her sleek sides and rubs his thumbs under her round breasts. He stoops to lick and suck the bite-mark he gave her, and puts his fingers where Rose’s had been, on the seam of her pants, petting. When he feels the cloth turn damp he can’t help biting her again, just gently, but enough to leave a mark. _Remember me tomorrow, Rey; remember how you let me touch you until you were wet._

She hisses and squirms, rocking herself against his fingers, but she tugs and pushes at him, too; Rose is lying on the bed with her hand between her legs as she watches them, but when Rey pushes Ben down on the floor to kneel in front of her, she withdraws her hand so he can see her, black fur and dark pink center, looking slick and creamy-soft, and right, she’d been talking about his mouth. He bends forward and fits his lips over hers, sucking gently, stroking her lightly with his tongue, like she’s a fruit he’s afraid of tearing. She sighs, long and slow, and when he licks a little deeper and noses at the hood of her clit, she hums with pleasure, a deep sound that’s almost a purr.

She tastes like a warm summer morning, and Rey is taking off her shirt. It interrupts the purring, so he leans back a little to look at Rey teasing Rose’s tits with her fingers and tongue. They’re so gorgeous, Rey elegance and Rose luxury, and he’s maybe going to die if they don’t like him, so he leans back down to give Rose some precise, thoughtful licks before he puts his face up to ask, “So? Do I?”

“Hmm?” says Rose, a little breathlessly. Her fingers are stroking up and down Rey’s spine as Rey mouths at her breast.

“Do I,” he says, and gives her a lick that curls his tongue around her clit and makes her hips twitch, “know how to use my pretty mouth?”

“Fuck yes,” Rose moans, which he takes as his cue to put his lips back where they were. She’s arching her back now, pushing her soft wet pussy into his mouth for him to lick and suck, and he’s almost too absorbed in the taste and the feel to hear her say, “Rey — Rey, he’s so good, Rey; you have to try him,” like he’s a dessert she’s offering to share. _Yes, please. Eat me up, eat all of me; just as long as you enjoy it._

Rose’s little fingers peel him away from her by the hair, and she smiles down at him kindly. "Are you hard?“

Rey laughs and so does he, because _of course he is_; he’s so hard he might pass out, so hard it’s probably going to kill him. Especially with her fingers rubbing in his hair like that and the marks of Rey’s mouth on her and the promise that Rey might _try him_. Rose pulls him, more gently than Rey did, up and onto the bed, so they can both see how he’s stone-stiff and leaking and twitching at the sight of both of them, naked and disheveled and looking at him.

"Can Rey sit on your face?” Rose asks him, so polite, as if the idea of Rey throwing him to the ground and doing whatever she wants with him isn’t his very favorite fantasy. He just nods, licking his lips, and Rose pushes him gently down on his back while Rey strips off her pants. She licks her lips, too, looking down at him as she plants one knee beside his head, and he reaches up to pull her down against his mouth.

She’s _soaked_, dripping wet, with a rich taste like a dark liquor, and he tries to drink her down, lapping and sucking as if he were parched. He sighs against her, stirring the little hairs by his nose, and she sighs back, as he settles in to long, rough licks with the flat of his tongue. When he feels Rose’s hand on his cock, thumb smearing slowly back and forth over the head, he whimpers, spine arching, and Rey sits back a little, to give him air, which he needs, because Rose’s hand was just a preliminary; a moment later, he feels her knees on either side of his hips and she’s got just the very tip of him in her. The slow way she slides down over him, tight and soaking, with little squirms and rolls of her hips to make him fit, takes the air out of him. Rey bends over him, looking mesmerized as his eyes flutter and his teeth clench, and he runs his hands blindly up and down her thighs, feeling her muscles shift beneath her soft skin.

He can’t see Rose as she gets into a rhythm and begins to ride him. He can hear her giggle, though, as he gets his hands one the soft, firm flesh of Rey’s ass and keeps them there, kneading and caressing, as he draws her back where he wants her; Rose giggles, and rides him a little faster. With his hands supporting her ass, Rey starts to ride his face, too. His mouth is wet and his nose is wet and his chin is wet; he breathes slick delicious Rey. He holds her steady for a moment, and fucks his tongue up into her, grunting, desperate with the taste of her and the feel of Rose. Rey moans when he presses into her tight little hole, but after a moment she’s riding him again, sliding back and forth over his dripping mouth. He wants to taste them both, fuck them both, feel them tear him with their fingers and rip him apart with their teeth.

Rey’s knees squeeze around his ears and she makes desperate little noises in her throat. Her hips move frantically, and he wonders if she might not break his nose, or his neck, but he’s drowning in the overflow of pleasure and he doesn’t care; the only problem is that he’s absolutely going to come, very soon. But he can’t stop Rey; she’s going to come too, any second, he can tell. He takes one hand off her ass and paws desperately at Rose’s thigh, trying to tell her. “Uh huh,” she gasps, “uh huh; Rey, he’s gonna come for us!”

He knew he was going to come harder than he ever had in his life, but _Rey, he’s gonna come for us_, as if they want him to, as if they’ll enjoy his pleasure — it’s like being hit with a bomb. And even as he’s twisting and choking, dying of ecstasy, Rey is clenching and spasming against his tongue, moaning, “Good, good; _fuck_ that’s good,” and bombs don’t _keep_ exploding but somehow he keeps coming and coming until he’s burned away to nothing, blind, deaf, senseless, and blissful.

When he comes to, Rey is draped over his stomach, with Rose’s legs on her shoulders and her tongue a pink flash between Rose’s thighs. He has a sinking sense of guilt — he came before Rose could; selfish, selfish. He should take care of her. He tries to shift himself, to get up, but the Force pins him down. Rey smiles at him over Rose’s thigh. “I can handle this myself, thank you,” she says. Rose’s hand closes in her hair. “And you two taste _delicious _together.”


	2. Power Play (Hux/Dark!Rey/Jedi!Ben)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt  
Anonymous asked: Smut prompt; MFM threesome for Rey and Ben. AU or canonverse is up to you, the third is also up to you. All the details are up to you, basically 😊

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. God help me, I have selected Hux for the third. It’s practice for writing Hux as urbane and scheming and not a petty, stupid bully, I guess. And Hux is all about power, and if we’re being real, unstable power dynamics are my truest and deepest kink, so… here we are. This is another take on dark!Rey/Jedi!Ben, but it’s not a sequel to the other one, just… related.

She’d come back with the boy trailing behind her like a baby bird. He’s not technically a boy; Organa’s son must be nearly thirty. But he _looks_ like a boy, with his ridiculous ears he’s trying to hide under that impractical hair, the schoolboy way his shoulders slump, and his shapeless Jedi robes. And especially with the childish way his eyes follow Ren, tracking her like a compass.

(Hux has always wondered whether it might not be electro-magnetic, actually, the Force they worship. He invited her, once, to step into a properly-grounded cage and find out. She’d only rolled her eyes.)

He can at least insist that the Jedi boy wear binders. She puts them on him, and he watches her as she does it, barely seeming to notice he’s being restrained.

The message he gets that night is brief. _Come to my rooms, General. _When she’s angry with him, she calls him _Armitage. _When she speaks to him as her colleague, she calls him _Hux. _When she calls him G_eneral… s_he must be feeling very smug about the boy. Fine; he’ll let her celebrate.

He doesn’t think it’s justified; Organa’s too noble to make special concessions for her son. And if he does change his loyalties, like she claims, what can he bring that they don’t already have, with her? But he’s perfectly willing to fuck her brains out, even on this flimsy excuse. He goes to her room, thinking enjoyable thoughts about her legs and ass and fetching little tits.

She opens the door for him, using one of her tricks (electro-magnetics; or perhaps something gravitational?) and he sees her naked on her low, soft bed. She shuts the door behind him, and he sees she’s not alone. The boy looks much more like a man with his clothes off.

When he sees Hux he tries to get up, but she pushes him down again and keeps riding him. "General,“ she says casually, over her shoulder.

If she thinks he’ll throw a jealous fit, she’s quite mistaken. Jealousy is a concession of power, and Hux did not become who he is by conceding anything. He strolls to the bedside. "Why did you bother bluffing about his utility? If you wanted him as a fucktoy you should have said so.”

She leans back a little. He can see the muscles in her thighs working as she moves up and down on the Solo boy, who clutches the sheets and stares and stares at Ren as if nothing else is worth looking at. It tempts Hux to slap him, but she looks at up him hungrily and licks her lips. "You’re not so easily replaced, sir.“

She’s insulting them both, but the boy doesn’t seem to notice and — well, _fuck, _she knows what it does to him when she calls him _sir_. He reaches out and tweaks one of her nipples. She gasps, faltering a little in her rhythm, and the boy gasps too. Aren’t the Jedi celibate, or something ridiculous like that? He might not last more than a minute longer. She’s right; he’s not easily replaced. She insults him, but she knows it. It occurs to him that he may have misread the situation. He was assuming she was using the Jedi as a weapon against him, to try to provoke him. But she doesn’t seem disappointed by his calm response; if anything she’s pleased, tilting her head as if she’s enjoying the coolness of his gaze. There’s a message about power here, but it’s not for him — it’s for the boy. The Solo boy needs to understand that he may be a prince to the rebels, but here, he’s disposable. And he may look at Lady Ren like she’s his sun, but _she_calls Hux _sir_.

He steps out of his boots and shucks off his jacket and gloves, climbing up on the bed behind her. He puts his hands around her, just beneath her breasts, and draws firm lines with his fingernails at the seam where her soft tits meet her ribs, then swallows both breasts with his hands, catching the nipples between his fingers, so they twist as he kneads her slowly. Her head falls back against his shoulder with a hiss, and he drops his head to lick a line above her collar bone. She shudders, and the boy shudders with her.

“Do you like your new toy?” he whispers in her ear, and she nods. “How long do you think you’ll keep him?”

“Weeks, at least,” she whispers back, breathless. Hux thinks how this must look to her Jedi: his terrifying, beautiful captor writhing with pleasure at the touch of a black-clad man who shares her secrets. He’s actually hard now; he runs his hand down her stomach and pulls her a little back against him so she knows that when she’s drained the boy, he’ll take good care of her. He kisses her the way he knows she likes, the way he’s sure the boy didn’t, with a firm hand in her hair and a demanding mouth. He rakes his nails up her side as he does it, just to ensure she whimpers.

The Jedi whimpers too. Hux wonders if it’s because she clenches down on him with each little jolt of pleasure Hux gives her, or if he’s just so enslaved to her will that he can’t help echoing her? He’s seen those Force tricks she does with words, the ones that work on weak, unguarded minds. They say this one isn’t the Jedi his uncle is, and frankly, to Hux’s eyes he looks a bit stupid. Slow. That moon-mad way he stares at her — who knows what Lady Ren has done to his head?

Well. The boy should see what Hux can do to Lady Ren.

He keeps kissing her, and lets his hands do everything that’s ever made her squirm or moan. A light trace around her navel, and a soft strum of the little indented line beneath it. A touch that whispers teasingly over her nipple until she leans into his hand to make it press down. His thumb sweeping firmly over her the soft spot inside her hipbone while his fingers dig into her ripe ass. His palms holding her shoulders down as he snaps bites and kisses along her neck and down her back. It’s not long before she’s wild in his arms, all but sobbing. Hux drops his hands to her hips again. If she wants to ride this boy, she can damn well keep riding him. At a pace Hux is going to set. Because it’s a miracle the Solo boy hasn’t blown up beneath her yet, but it’s a miracle Hux is getting tired of. He wants his turn, and he wants to make her new toy watch.

Almost as if she can read his mind, she leans back, pressing her body against his and her mouth beside his ear. “Shall we show him,” she murmurs, “how nicely I can suck you?” His grip tightens involuntarily, fingers flexing.

“Let’s,” is all he says, but, _perfect;_ she’s diabolical at this. He’s not ignorant of the power over him she has with her mouth on him, but it turns her _attention_ on him, and Ren’s attention is currency here. He pulls on her shoulders, telling her to turn, and she pulls herself off the boy to do it. He gasps, from the loss, or the cold air on his wet cock, and hisses with her when she sinks back down on him, facing Hux. Hux wonders, as he pushes his pants to his knees and opens his shirt, if the Jedi feels everything she feels. If he’ll feel Hux’s cock down his throat.

Oh, but she leans forward, and her mouth and her hand — it’s such a relief. He swallows, pleasure rising so fast it could drown him. The way she can move her tongue so firmly against him while she bobs her head, the press of her lips with each stroke, the way her hand works with her mouth — he doesn’t know how she got so good and he doesn’t care. He opens his mouth to praise her — she always works harder when he tells her she’s doing it well — and then he catches the boy’s wide eyes, and remembers there are things to enjoy here besides the physical sensation. He looks over her, past the arch of her strong back, down his nose at the dazed runaway Jedi.

“She’s good at this, you know. Has she put her mouth on you yet?” Slowly, the boy shakes his head. "Hmm. Maybe if you’re a good boy.” He strokes Ren’s hair, watches the yearning swell in young Solo’s dark eyes. “Isn’t she pretty? Isn’t she _tight?”_

But Ren wants a little of her own back. He feels the edges of her teeth scrape him, and he digs his hand into her hair. She’s had her left hand on the bed for balance, she moves it to his thigh; her nails are short, but he feels them well enough, the slow scrape down his leg. She know what he likes. He says so. He knows her, and the knowledge is power, and the power lets him condescend, and the condescension, when the boy can’t fight back, is power too. He has his cock in Ren’s mouth and his boot, metaphorically, in Organa’s son’s face, and he’s fairly sure this is bliss. More so when she takes him deeper into her mouth, so deep he grunts. Her right hand slides off him, and between her legs.

The boys hands have been clenched in the sheets, but he brings them up to clutch her ass. Who can blame him? Maybe tomorrow night they can do this again, and he’ll make the boy watch as he spanks her. Ren will want some concession for it, but they can work something out —

“Rey.” It’s the first time Hux has heard the boy’s voice. It’s not a boy’s voice; it’s deep and dark, and there’s something uncanny about it. And who or what is — ? “Rey.”

Ren moans on his cock. Like an answer. As she speeds up, dipping her head, moaning again, her hand frantic between her legs, he suddenly realizes that he has always called her Ren, Lady Ren, but that that can’t be her name. That Rey must be _her. _That the boy knows her name, and Hux does not. That she’s coming now, with her mouth on his cock, and the boy inside her, and the boy is coming too, with his eyes closed and his hands on her as she spasms and trembles and gags. Something is unsteady in Hux, and he feels — his cock — her mouth — her hand — he didn’t want to, not yet, not like this, but —

He chokes as he fills her mouth with spend, and Ren — Rey — slides backwards off him, sitting up, as the Solo boy sits up behind her, one arm coming up to wrap around her, the other thrust out at Hux’s face.

“You’re going to go to sleep,” that queer heavy voice says, and everything goes black.

When he wakes up, it’s been six standard hours, the ship is burning, Snoke is dead, and he’s wearing the binders he made her put on the boy.


	3. Melting Heat (Reylo, Reluctant Allies)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt
> 
> Anonymous asked: Porn prompt! Rey and Ben are begrudgingly working together but on the run and need to lie low in an abandoned house for a bit until their exfil. Forced proximity + honest to goodness conversations = banging

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me a shameful six months to answer this prompt, and I'm not sure that what I came up with was really what was wanted -- I pulled the "too darn hot" theme out of nowhere and I didn't put much emphasis on forced proximity. I'm sorry, anon.

“What’s wrong with this planet’s atmosphere?” she gasps, slamming the window down and sliding down beneath the windowsill. “Do they know we’re here?” They’re supposed to be hidden here, waiting for Poe to come and sweep them off their feet. Or up by the scruffs of the necks they’ve been busy endangering. Poe has plenty to say about that these days, though Rey doesn’t think he has as much room to talk as he thinks he does.

“What do you mean?” he asks, but she can see its affecting him too, sweat dripping down his neck though the instrument on the wall shows only 27 Standard.

“It’s _choking_. Are they poisoning us? What have they done? How long do we have?”

He pauses, blinking. “Nobody did anything. It’s just humid.”

“_Humid?_ This is _water?_”

“Yes,” he says. “You’ve never been on a humid world before?”

“There was fog on Ach-To.” She sits down. The air feels heavy.

“It’s hot. I thought you’d be used to heat.”

She points indignantly to the temp instrument. _“44_ is hot.” She sees him flinch at the number. “39, 38 even, if you don’t have water or shade. 27 isn’t hot.” She’s in the shade, hidden beneath the sill in this dark abandoned house, but it doesn’t seem to matter. And according to the recently resigned-or-so-he-claims Supreme Leader (Rey is tempted to rifle through his memories and see if he wasn’t deposed), it’s water that’s to blame. “So what do you do about this?”

“Maybe there’s climate regulation somewhere. But I doubt it. This planet is primitive.”

“So what do we do?”

He frowns. “What do you mean?”

“In real heat, you look for shade. If you can spare the water, you make yourself sweat. If you can spare the power, you rig a fan. If the sand hasn’t shifted lately, you can dig down to a cooler layer.”

“Fanning might help. Sweating won’t, or not much. I think the whole… problem… is the evaporation point.”

Rey swears. “Fine. Is there a fan unit?”

There is not. They search the whole house, both stories, and when they meet up again, he’s opened all the windows, and a good deal more of his snow-white skin is showing than when she left him. (She knows what snow is, now, how it feels, how fragile it is, not like sand at all, and for a brief moment she dreams that Kylo Ren might be cool and gentle to the touch. But she knows better; she’s felt him at her back, under her hand, fighting together; he’s feverishly hot; touching him would be no help. No help at all.)

He sees her looking. He’s removed his gloves, and his tunic; his arms are still covered, and suspenders hang from his waist, pulling at the high band of his trousers. It’s actually worse than – but what does she mean _worse?_ Worse how. That doesn’t make any sense. She turns away.

“It encourages evaporation,” he says stiffly, and she nods, just as stiffly. That makes sense. They’re shaded here, after all, and so there’s no need to shield bare skin from burns. He’d burn so easily, in the sun, with that skin; he’d flush and the lightest touch of her fingers would make him hiss, but he’d need a salve; she imagines the extravagant quantities of cool gel she’d need to cover all of him, a whole pot, enough to dip her fingers all the way into; she imagines her wet fingers sliding over his back as he shudders –

“What is it?”

“I was just – you wouldn’t fare well on Jakku. Showing skin like that.”

“I know,” he mumbles. “I didn’t. Dress like this.”

She jerks around to face him. “You were on Jakku?”

His eyes are downcast and he swallows hard. “First Order business.”

Of course. Busy being a master of the universe. While she dug for parts in dusty graveyards. She looks down at her arms, carefully wrapped against a blazing star she hasn’t seen in years.

Well. He’s not a dark lord, anymore, is he. Just some human man (strong and hot to the touch), taking instructions from Poe, just like her. And she’s not his subject. She’s his… partner. (Equal in the Force. Mirror-image.) She undoes her belt and strips off her wrap, and then the tunic underneath. She’s not looking at him but he swallows so hard she can hear it.

She sits down on the floor and takes off her boots, then lays down flat. He’s looking at her; she can feel it; he’s standing there looking at her. “Heat rises,” she reminds him. Slowly, he sits down, and then slowly unfolds to lie on the floor. Parallel to her, and not so far away.

There’s nothing to do but wait, is there? They should rest. “Sleep,” she says. That’s what you do if you don’t have to work. “The beacon will wake us up if Poe shows up earlier than he says he will.”

But she can’t sleep. The air is too heavy. She should feel drowsy, but she only feels restless. Irritable. She rolls on her side and sees that he’s done the same. He’s been watching her not-sleep. His eyes flicker over her, lingering in odd places – not the subtle little valley that shows at the top of her breast band, but her ankle, her shoulder. Her mouth. (Maybe that’s not so odd, she thinks, sneaking a glance at his sulky-soft lips.) She rolls her neck, under his gaze, and blushes when she realizes she’s done it.

He keeps looking. “Did you really roll around in the dirt?” he asks. “To keep cool?”

“What?”

His finger traces a line in the grain of the floor. (As best it can; the grain is fine, and his fingers are thick.) “You said you’d dig down to a cool layer.”

“In the _sand,”_ she says. “If it’s burning through your shoes, you dig down to where it’s cooler.”

“Oh,” he says. “Only your feet.”

Is he… _disappointed?_ “What were you imagining? That I buried myself up to the neck? I’d never get out again.”

“Some animals wallow,” he says, sounding a bit defensive.

“You mean like a sand bath? Sure, but that’s to get clean, not cool. You scour, you don’t roll around. And I’m not an animal.”

“We’re all animals.”

“We are not,” she says sternly. “Animals can’t govern themselves. We can.”

“Maybe _you_ can.” He rolls away from her. She can tell just by the shape of his shoulders that he’s clenching his fists.

“Oh, you mean, unlike all those other sentients who need the guiding hand of a _supreme leader?”_

“Snoke couldn’t govern a single ship,” he grits. “And neither could I. Neither can Hux, not by himself. People aren’t governable. They’re manipulable.”

Now her teeth are clenched too. “Maybe they are. But they can resist it. And – ”

“Maybe _you_ can,” he says again, and the tension in his shoulders is pulled so tight his back arches and the pain radiates out from him in the Force like a sonic shock. The pain carries his meaning to her, and drags at her heart, even before she hears him mumble it out. “I never could. I’m _weak_. I always have been.”

“No,” she protests. “No, you’re not. I know you’re strong; I’ve felt it in you.”

He spits the bitter fragment of a laugh. “You. It’s easier for you than for anyone.”

“What are you talking about?” Being strong? He should know, better than anyone, how hard she fights, how she struggles and weeps – she thought he _did_know –

“At least Master Snoke, Master Luke – they told me I had to work for it. You make it seem like I could just _have_ it. Like I could just reach out and – have.” She sees him lift a straining arm, clutching for nothing. (There’s so much effort in him, so much struggle, but the muscles in his pale shoulder move with such simple grace.)

“Have what?”

He rolls over again. He’s closer, now. If he reached out again she would be in his grasp. The sun is setting; the damp-warm room is falling into shadow. She can feel sweat dripping between her breasts. She can feel his eyes on her face.

“Have what?” she whispers again.

He breathes out. Does she feel it? Is he that close? Or is it just a brief stirring of the hot and sticky air between them? “A way out,” he says at last. “You can lead me around so easily, because you always make it seem like… all I have to do is ask.”

He laughs again, longer, and so much sadder; he closes his eyes but she can see the tears lining his lashes. For a moment Rey could cry herself, for the despair that howls in him. A feeling like the first time she climbed a dune, and felt herself slide down and backwards with each step, while the wind built and shifted the peak above her.

But she has learned to walk on sand. A light, trudging step. A patient step.

“Maybe not. Maybe that’s not all. But have you tried?” she asks gently. “Have you tried asking?”

His eyes fly open. “Asking?” His voice cracks. “Have I _tried asking?”_ She sees it, suddenly, in his dazed eyes, full of pain and rage – his outstretched hand, his palm sweating in his glove, his lips trembling as he made himself say it. _Please_.

Quick, like she’s bringing her staff down on a pole-snake’s head, she seizes his hand. The same hand. Bare now. (Still sweating.) "I asked you too,“ she snarls, clutching his heavy paw to her like its her haul, her prize, “I _asked_ you, I _begged_you, but you were so _set_. You say you want a way out? I told you I’d help you, I was ready to take you away, _bring_ you out, but you were asking me to _stay_ there. But fine. Fine! You asked once and I said no, so now you’ll never ask anybody anything ever again, is that it?”

She tugs on his hand again, angrily, like it will convince him of something. If he wanted, he could be immovable as stone, but he jolts with her motion. His skin is hot, like she knew it would be, his palm hotter, almost slippery with sweat, and little flashes of thought are jumping from him to her like sparks, like a current (her hand, pushing cool sand up and down her bare legs, tracing the curve of her calf and the hollow of her knee; the shifting line of her bare bent neck; the glimmer of a drop of sweat as it moves between her breasts) but she pushes past them, leaning in, staring fiercely up into his face. “Fine. Will you come with _me_, Ben? Join _me_; be on _my_ side? I have no bloody idea if it’s easy or hard. But will you come with me and _try?”_

If she were standing, she might have stamped her foot, some distraction from the hot tears gathering in her eyes. Instead, she yanks fiercely on his hand, pulling with her whole body, so that she rolls onto her back and he follows. His body lands heavily on hers, and the images in his head change and strengthen and become more than images: he can feel the grit of sand over her soft skin; he can feel the hard muscle in her neck and shoulder, the fit of his thumb into the hollow of her collarbone; he can taste the drop of sweat, and he would lick it from her skin or suck it as a dark drop from the linen strip he envies and resents.

He’s smotheringly hot, worse than this deadly atmosphere, and he crushes all the breath out of her. But that flood of thoughts, and the frantic whimpering noise he makes when she’s under him, make her head drop back, and make her whimper in return, even before his nose presses into the hair behind her ear; even before his mouth is on her neck, every word a kiss or a bite, _“Rey; I’ll do anything; Rey.”_

All the bare white skin is on her, there to touch, but she knows what she wants most, and she seizes his long black hair and drags his hectic mouth to hers. He stammers against her lips for a moment before he falls into her, kissing her with single-minded intensity. She tries to move one hand to his shoulder, but he seizes both her wrists and pins them; he won’t be distracted from her mouth. He caresses it with his, scrapes and nips her with his teeth, breathes her in, drinks her up. _“Anything,”_ he says again, low and aching, moving her lips with his.

She kisses him back, doing everything he does to her to him, but harder, ‘til he moans. And he can pin her arms, but her legs are free, and she presses her bare foot along the back of his thigh, tracing out the shape of him. When her bent leg squeezes the muscles of his ass he chokes and gasps for breath; she doesn’t know if it’s the feeling or if he’s picking the image out of her mind, the thought of how he’d move if he were fucking her. His fingers are tight on her arms, and his hips jerk, once, before he falls back a little, retreating down her body.

He lets her arms go but he puts one outspread hand across her neck and collarbone, the heel of his hand resting against her breastbone. With the other he rips away her breast band. It drags at her, biting into her flesh before it tears; he just stares, fixated, until the linen rips. He licks his lips, panting, and then he jerks his eyes up to her face, stricken. He swallows hard, drawing back his hands as if she burns him, and the cold wave of his fear makes her shiver in the sweltering room.

She grabs for his hair and drags his head down, arching her back in case the way she manhandles his head doesn’t make it clear what she wants. When his tongue touches her, stroking up to the point of her nipple, she gasps, and his fear draws back, lost in a wave of his intense satisfaction.

He licks, and sucks, and bites at the undersides; he bites the nipple, too, and she jerks her knee into his side. "That _hurts,“_ she growls, and he grunts, but doesn’t pause. It’s hot and wet in the room; his mouth is hot and wet on her skin; she knows she’s hot and wet between her legs, and she knows he’s thinking of it. Before it had choked her; she’d thought she was dying, poisoned. Now she luxuriates in it. The air is full of the smell of him, sweat and leather and burning power cells.

She digs his hands into his hair again, dragging it against the grain so that it spills over her bare skin, tickling and rasping under her fingers. "You’re going to fuck me, aren’t you?” she says sternly. "You’re going to fuck me _very nice and hard_, and then you’re going to come with me and be with me. Aren’t you, Ben?“

He makes a furious noise against her skin, a snarl that buzzes through her and makes her squeeze her legs tight around his waist. He claws at the waistband of her pants, grunting, “Nice and hard. Harder than you’ve ever had it.” She lifts her hips and he yanks her pants and underwear down together, barely getting them past her knees before he’s struggling with his own pants, staring down at her. His cock comes free, thick and red, the tip already smeared wet. His lips are wet and shining, and she wants them on her cunt, reaches out to push him down, but he’s already muscling his knees between hers, spreading her thighs with bruisingly desperate hands.

_“Anything,”_ he groans, as he presses into her and she cries out. "Nice and hard and _anything. Rey.“ _ His voice is so deep, and he’s so deep inside her. She moans, and he thrusts again. _"Rey.” _He braces himself on one forearm, the fist clenched beside her ear; with his other hand, he tremblingly lifts her leg to wrap around him, to feel his bare skin against hers, to feel his muscles work as he throws himself into fucking her. Her head rocks back, little noises pouring from between clenched teeth as he works his cock into her, just like she asked.

They’re both soaked with sweat, their bodies moving slick and sultry. "That’s good,“ she mumbles. "Ah, ah – that’s good. That’s so good.” She can feel how it thrills him, feel it in the Force and in the way he moves, straining and savoring. She rolls her hips, pressing him where she wants him, and urges him on with her heels. He’s panting, wild-eyed, spitting obscene syllables; he drops his head, and she can feel how good it feels, to drag his cock out of her clenching cunt and drive it back in. She sees the tense line of muscle in his shoulder, braced above her; she stares at it, and there’s answering tension in her. She claws at his back, clings to him with her knees, wringing what she wants from him, convulsing when she gets it. He shudders and sobs when he feels her feel it, but he fucks her through it. (Anything, anything; he always expected to work for it, and never thought the work would be so sweetly difficult.)

Her head lolls, and he’s still working, still straining, fighting with his own pleasure. She opens her mouth and licks his neck, hot and hard. His hips stammer. She sinks her teeth into his shoulder and he shouts and slams her flat beneath him, jerking still more warmth and wetness into her.

He lies heavily on her. She can hear him swallow, feel the faint, exhausted tick of his mind, listing towards anxiety. He’s ready to have failed, ready to panic. She strokes her hand through his hair and he steadies. His thoughts sink down to a low flame of sensuous impression. _Hot_, he is thinking, _hot and wet and sweet and good._

Rey breathes deeply, inhaling the humid air that feels like it might drown her, and hopes Poe takes his time.


End file.
